


'C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done, then we can...'

by nymeriahale



Series: prompt fills [30]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriahale/pseuds/nymeriahale
Summary: “Mate, there’s no way you’ll fit,” Elliot puts in. “I’m not saying you’re small, Fordy, just -”“I happen to know I fit quite comfortably, thank you,” Owen informs them, prim.Jonny wouldn’t have said anything, but he doubts it. He watches with a skeptical eye as Owen finally gets to George, takes a moment to look down at him, sat between the arm of the sofa and Elliot. Then he just - settles in. Owen puts his back to the worn arm of the sofa and sits, rests his legs at a slight angle across George’s so his knees are secured neatly on George’s opposite side, but not encroaching on Elliot’s space. It should look comical, Owen’s additional height highlighted by their positioning, but it doesn’t. It looks - comfortable.
Relationships: Owen Farrell/George Ford
Series: prompt fills [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/396019
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	'C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done, then we can...'

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done, then we can...” 
> 
> This is a work of fiction and as such nothing is to be considered implied or insinuated about real life rugby players.

Jonny looks up at the sound of a dramatic sigh, finds Owen standing with his hands on his hips, scowling at him and everyone else gathered around a table for a game of cards.

“And where am I supposed to sit?” Owen demands. “I’ve been working hard, in meetings half the evening, and you lads can’t even leave me a seat?”

“You’ve been sacrificing team bonding to make nice with the coaches, there’s no space for you here,” Ben retorts, over general amusement.

George sits back on the sofa from his previous perch, movement catching Jonny’s eye.

“C’mere,” George invites. “You can sit in my lap until I’m done, then we can -”

“- no one wants to know!”

It’s Ben again, of course.

George just rolls his eyes, and Jonny would bet Owen does too. “- we can go review video,” George finishes.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Jonny asks, sly, can’t help himself.

There’s a beat before Owen snorts laughter, George and the others following suit.

“We’re just trying to improve our performance,” Owen tells Jonny, to a chorus of groans, tipping him a wink as he starts picking his way over to George.

“Are you really going to try and sit in his lap?” Jamie sounds incredulous. 

“Mate, there’s no way you’ll fit,” Elliot puts in. “I’m not saying you’re small, Fordy, just -”

“Yeah, quit while you’re ahead,” George advises him.

“I happen to know I fit quite comfortably, thank you,” Owen informs them, prim.

Jonny wouldn’t have said anything, but he doubts it. He watches with a skeptical eye as Owen finally gets to George, takes a moment to look down at him, sat between the arm of the sofa and Elliot. Then he just - settles in. Owen puts his back to the worn arm of the sofa and sits, rests his legs at a slight angle across George’s so his knees are secured neatly on George’s opposite side, but not encroaching on Elliot’s space. It should look comical, Owen’s additional height highlighted by their positioning, but it doesn’t. It looks - comfortable.

“Huh,” Jamie says, Jonny turning to find him watching Owen and George too.

George rolls his eyes. “Yeah, this ain’t our first rodeo.”

And Jonny knows that, has known that, has known the two of them were dating long before this started being a thing they could do in open England lounges. But he’s never seen it, not really, never seen the way the two of them fit together.

Jonny can’t help the way he watches them, just a little, just in moments, as the card game goes on.

The first thing he notices is that Owen is blatantly cheating, craning his neck to see Ben’s cards where he sits on the floor by the side of the sofa, whispering in George’s ear to tell him about it. George doesn’t seem impressed, Jonny catching the small flicker of movement as he pinches Owen’s thigh. Jonny blinks. There’s next to no movement because George’s hand is resting on Owen’s thigh as he plays, palm high up by the crease of his hip. Jonny hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t have noticed, what would between any other two players be unacceptable contact - and there’s not much of that, in a rugby camp. 

George starts tracing patterns at the edge of Owen’s shorts, dipping fingers onto his bare skin, and Jonny has to look away. He looks at George’s face - what is he thinking, doing that here? But George is scowling at his cards, fully focused, and whether he’d approved of Owen’s cheating or not he’s clearly taking advantage of it, getting Ben out with his pick. The movement is absent minded, unremarkable to the two of them, confirmed by Owen’s focus on his conversation with Elliot when Jonny looks to him. 

It’s intimate, and it’s natural.

Jonny switches his focus to the game for a few rounds, before Owen leans forwards to pick up George’s beer, the movement drawing his eye. He drinks deep without so much as a by-your-leave, keeping the beer in his lap rather than return it to the table. Once George has had his turn Owen passes the beer to him, taking the cards from his hand to allow George to drink without unravelling the two of them. Jonny doesn’t know how he’d known what George wanted, hadn’t seen any signal, but the exchange was clearly anticipated, the two of the moving to swap handfuls simultaneously. Jonny decides he wants to catch the prompt next time - they’ll have to swap back before George plays his turn, and they can’t just be reading each other’s minds.

Jonny has to break focus to play his turn, and he thinks that’s the only reason he catches the tap of Owen’s fingers on George’s bare knee when he looks back, a split second before George takes his cards back from Owen, passes off the beer. He personally doesn’t see how that’s different from the little patterns and odd taps George is still dotting over Owen’s thigh, but the two of them clearly do.

The game demands Jonny’s attention once again, and when Owen’s soft laughter draws his attention he blinks to see the height difference between them - less noticeable than he’d’ve anticipated in any case - has completely vanished, heads tilted together as they speak quietly. Jonny frowns, eyes flicking over the two of them, as he tries to figure out _how_. George is out of the game now, not even bothering to feign interest in the outcome, and it’s left him free to take the hand Owen had been resting on his knee. Other than that, Jonny can’t figure out what has changed - and then Owen drops his head to rest briefly on George’s shoulder, and he sees. 

Owen must have slipped further back into the corner of the sofa, twisted slightly, then bent his entire torso in towards George, the arch in his spine putting the two of them on par. Jonny hadn’t been able to spot it until Owen’s movement had exaggerated the curve of his body, Owen’s body tilted into George’s striking him as perfectly neutral.

Jonny wonders how often he, how often the team, miss moments like this between the two of them. Moments of contact, communication, accommodation, that clearly come as easy as breathing. They’re unobtrusive, rendered nigh on unnoticeable by their ease, hidden in plain sight.

**Author's Note:**

> No _thunder_ update this week, sorry all! Please accept a few prompt fills I did on tumblr back in May as an apology - we should be back to normal next week. As always I can be found on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nymeriahale) and both my [main](http://nymeriahale.tumblr.com) and [rugby](http://fordfarrell.tumblr.com) tumblrs, and would love to hear from you either there or in the comments!


End file.
